


Crimson Tears

by penguinsarepeopletoo



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Self Harm, TW: Self Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 08:49:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/924332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penguinsarepeopletoo/pseuds/penguinsarepeopletoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>wrote this one shot forever ago (like july 2012 ago) on tumblr at curly-and-lou.tumblr.com<br/>depressed!harry, written back a year ago when he wore like a million bracelets on his wrist and it worried me a little</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crimson Tears

**Author's Note:**

> Not much of a plot, written during a shitty point in my life. But hey, it's my first one shot so you can cut me some slack ;)

Louis bounces up and down excitedly in his airplane seat, shaking the entire row. “I can’t believe we’re going to France, Haz!” he shouts gaily, clapping his hands together. The business man sitting on Harry’s left hand side snorts in disgust, staring at Louis pointedly. Harry smirks as Louis ignores the man, gathering Harry into a hug and pressing his lips to his forehead. Liam, sitting on Louis’ other side, winks at Harry’s childlike blush, laughing at his love struck expression before turning back to his conversation with Zayn and Niall. Harry shivers as Louis tightens his arms, and then groans quietly under his breath. He is so gone.

 

——

 

Harry’s breath hitches as they step out of the plane and head towards their chauffeured van, Zayn stumbling in exhaustion. Today is The Day. The Day, as in Harry is going to tell Louis about his less platonic, more ‘let’s-get-married-and-fuck-every-night-and-have-blue-eyed-curly-haired-children-and-grow-old-together’ kind of feelings. He’s harboured these feelings for a long time - two years, to be exact. There was a spark when they first met - in the X-Factor toilets, of all places - and it’s only been burning brighter (in Harry’s case at least) each day they’re together. Harry is shit scared to profess his love, but he’s also fucking excited. He’s not telling Louis on a whim. He’s put a lot of thought into this. He’s looked on tumblr and seen what their girls have written about Larry Stylinson. He’s read their analyses and had a look at some of their stories, and a lot of what he’s read (excluding the fact that they think they fuck every night - Harry wishes) has been eerily accurate , at least in regards to his own feelings. He is just praying that they’re just as accurate with Louis’. Harry thinks he’s noticed some of those feelings - dare he say of love - sparkling in Louis’ eyes when they play fight on the tour bus, lingering in his touch when they snuggle in bed together, tinkling behind his voice when they sing together on stage. He’s discussed it with his sister Gemma too, who is certain that Louis returns Harry’s feelings. When Harry mentions his doubts, Gemma tells him that he has nothing to lose, and to just tell him for God’s sake! Harry prays that she’s right.

Harry jerks out of his thoughts after a loud snort of laughter from Niall. With a brief burst of panic, he attempts to rearrange his expression from one of infatuation to one of contentment and polite indifference. Louis looks at him with a curious smile, but Harry pokes his tongue at him along with a dismissive wave, ignoring the tug of arousal that Louis’ gaze causes deep in his belly. It’s not time yet. He can wait.

 

——

 

Harry laughs as Louis pushes their hotel room door open, immediately running to the couch and bouncing on it like a little child. “C’mon Harry!” he shouts, gesturing at the couch, “C’mon!” And Harry follows, of course. Harry will always follow Louis. Soon they’re both bouncing on the couch together, delighted laughter escaping their lips along with the occasional squeal. They push each other playfully, and soon enough they fall, Louis landing on top of Harry heavily. Roughly, Harry turns them over, and laughs at Louis’ face before suddenly realizing their compromising position. Harry blushes at their close proximity, light headed as he is filled with Louis’ scent. But as he gazes into Louis’ glazed eyes, he realizes.

The time is here. The time is now. Louis’ breath hitches, his eyes wide. Harry’s heart is pounding hard as he allows his eyes to slip shut, navigating his body towards Louis’. As he edges closer, he can feel Louis’ warm breath fan across his face, and he mumbles “I love you” quietly, nose touching Louis’. Almost before he is ready, skin meets skin and lips meet lips.  
Fire. A fucking incredible fire has ignited in Harry’s veins, spreading through every atom of his body, and it is all centred from the arousing feeling of Louis’ lips on his own. Harry’s stomach clenches and he sighs into the kiss, melting into Louis arms which have somehow found their way around his neck. Harry can feel the pressure of Louis’ lips on his as he kisses back passionately, and fuck this is incredible and this is way too good to be true… And it must be. Because all of a sudden, Harry is falling forward, the only thing against his lips being air.

“What the FUCK was that, Harry?” Louis growls, pulling away from Harry and slapping at the hand that still lies on his thigh. Harry stays sitting on the couch, frozen.  
"W…what’s wrong?" he asks, the smile of elation fading from his face. He reaches his trembling hand out gently towards Louis, absently trying to smooth out the frown lines on Louis’ angry face.  
“What’s WRONG?!” Louis repeats scornfully, jerking out of Harry’s reach. Harry feels his heart clench at the anger in Louis’ voice. “What’s WRONG, Harry, is that I’m STRAIGHT. I have a fucking GIRLFRIEND for God’s sake!” He stands up, pacing. “And even if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t kiss YOU, Harry.” (You’re my best friend, Louis thinks. Because I’m not good enough for you, Harry thinks.)  
“S…so you don’t feel the same way?” Harry asks brokenly, and he feels his heart being torn out of his chest with each shake of Louis’ head.  
“Why WOULD Louis go for you when he can do so much better?" Harry thinks mournfully, "I mean, Eleanor is just so-"  
“That’s it, I’m going to El’s,” Louis snaps, grabbing his jacket off the couch and stalking towards the door. He picks up his suitcase which is still lying haphazardly on the floor, right next to Harry’s.  
Harry shakes his head to clear it, trying to think coherently. Eleanor - Eleanor is back in ENGLAND. Harry stands up shakily. “Louis, wai-“  
SLAM. The door reverberates on its hinges with the force of Louis anger.  
Harry sinks back down onto the couch, head in his hands, and lets out a heartbroken sob. Louis has rejected him. He has taken everything with him. Louis is GONE.  
He KNOWS that Louis is too good for him. He has always known. But he just thought… Maybe… Just maybe, Louis felt the same burning fire that he always ignited in Harry.  
But no.  
Clearly, Harry’s love is unrequited. And that’s what it is. Love. Harry loves Louis. He loves how long it takes for Louis to do his feathery hair in the morning, and how frustrated he gets that it takes Harry only seconds to do his own. He loves how Louis takes his tea - a splash of milk and no sugar - and the way he always sighs contentedly after the first sip. He loves how Louis cares for his family, and the way his eyes light up and his voice softens whenever he talks about them. He loves how Louis is just so FUNNY, and how he can find humour in any situation. He loves the sparkle of Louis cerulean eyes, and how he can get lost in those clear, glittering pools. He loves Louis’ fingers, he loves Louis’ toes, hell, he just loves LOUIS, and all that Louis is.

Harry breaks out of his thoughts, picking up his Blackberry with trembling hands, and opens a new text to Gemma. “You said I had nothing to lose,” he types angrily, a traitorous tear slipping down his cheek. “You were wrong. And now I have nothing.” He sends the text with a sob, and throws the phone onto the couch in frustration, more tears sliding down his cheeks.

He stumbles into the bathroom, leaning heavily onto the sink and letting out a breathy gasp as he makes eye contact with himself in the mirror. Loser. Gay. Fag. Not. Good. Enough.  
Harry reaches up for a glass, which stands alone on a single silver shelf above the sink. His fingers attempt to grasp it - however such is his emotional exhaustion that he misses the glass and knocks it into the sink. It shatters on impact. As Harry reaches into the sink to retrieve the broken glass, he catches sight of the inside of his wrist. His eyes trace the faded pink scars that crisscross from the end of his palm all the way to the crook of his elbow. The cuts Harry made during high school, the cuts that helped him cope with the shit that pricks in Holmes Chapel threw at him. He hasn’t added to his painful collection since he met Louis. But now Louis is gone.

Almost without realizing it, Harry’s hand has continued its path into the sink, grasping a jagged shard of broken glass. The sharp edges slice into his fingers, and Harry welcomes the painful distraction. In an almost automatic, practiced manner, Harry brings the glass onto the scarred flesh of his wrist, and presses it firmly into the skin. He smiles twistedly as the glass slides through his skin like scissors through paper, crimson blood immediately welling in the wound. Once, for Harry’s ugly, awful face that he can see in the mirror, nose too big, eyes too small, face too thin. Some of the thousands of reasons why he’s not good enough for Louis.  
Harry moves the glass a little higher and presses it into his skin again, deeper this time, and sighs in release as he pulls it purposefully across his arm. Twice, for all the fat that still remains on Harry’s body, despite the rigorous exercise regime and strict diet he’s put himself through to try and be worthy of Louis. Louis, who is gone.  
Three times (Harry smiles through his tears at the pain) for his love, his stupid fucking love, which leaves a scar far deeper and far more permanent than any physical damage Harry can do to himself.

Harry thinks he can hear a voice in the hotel room behind him, but he ignores it. He has missed this pain. He needs this pain. And in some twisted way, he thinks he deserves this pain. Harry grasps the glass tighter, cutting it into his palm, and brings it back to the mutilated flesh of his skin. He notices the almost pretty way the blood drips from his arm onto the snowy white tiles, like crimson tears.  
Four time-  
“Hey Haz, I heard the door slam and saw Lou with his suitcase. Are you o- HARRY! WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!”  
Harry thinks he can see Liam’s horrified expression in the mirror - sweet, sensible Liam - and as the world starts to fade to black around him, he realizes that he’s never heard Liam curse before. But he can’t comment on this, because his head is spinning and his vision is clouding, and as he attempts to open his mouth the darkness steals him away.

 

——

 

“Excuse moi Monsieur, mais vous ne…”  
"… don’t speak French…"  
“…et oui, nous avons…”  
“…suicidal…”  
“… mais non, il a…”  
“…unconscious…”  
“…parce que il tête est…”  
"… medically induced coma…"

 

When Harry finally regains consciousness, he is confused. From the softness beneath him, he realizes he is in a bed, and he can feel a familiar pain searing in his wrist, and a not so familiar pain radiating from the back of his head. However, for the life of him he cannot figure out where he is. Why can he hear people speaking French, and -  
Oh.  
Paris.  
Louis.  
Eleanor.  
Liam.  
Louis is gone.  
And with that final realization, Harry goes under once more.

 

——

 

BEEP BEEP BEEP.  
When Harry wakes up again, he has gained enough coherency to realize that he is in hospital. He can hear the steady beeping of a heart monitor, and random medical jumble thrown in with the French gibberish. He must have brained himself on the floor, Harry realizes, when he passed out. That would explain the throbbing in the back of his head.  
It doesn’t take long this time for the memories to float back, and as Harry remembers Louis’ words he feels his heart being torn anew. Harry wants to cry out, wants to swear, wants to do anything, but he can’t even open his eyes. He can’t -  
“Harry…” a voice whispers. It is broken and hoarse, a voice which makes Harry’s heart jump with happiness and crumble in despair simultaneously. “Harry, I’m so, so sorry. Please wake up.” The person’s voice cracks, and he hears them take a shaky breath. “This is all my fault,” they mumble brokenly. Harry feels a slight pressure on his stomach as they lay their head down, trying to muffle their sobs. Harry wants to scream out, wants to tell Louis to please stop crying, that he can’t handle Louis’ tears, that he shouldn’t be crying over Harry, of all people. But he physically can’t. “I’m so sorry,” Louis wails, and Harry feels the pressure lift as Louis sits up, blowing his nose noisily. “Harry, I never wanted… I really do lo…love…” he breaks off and sighs heavily. “I was just scared, you know, and El, and management, and… shit Harry, why would you do this to yourself? I can’t… I just.. I’m so sorry. Just wake up, please.” Harry hears Louis voice break, and is slightly startled as he grasps his hand. Gently, Louis massages soft circles into Harry’s palm, and Harry manages to let out a soft mewl at the sensation. With an inconceivable amount of effort, Harry curls his fingers slightly around Louis’. Louis gasps and calls for the nurse as Harry’s thoughts begin to cloud once more, and Harry faintly registers a slight pressure of lips on his before the darkness takes him hostage.

 

——

 

The third time Harry wakes up, he is able to open his eyes. At first, he can see nothing but splodges of colour dancing through his vision. However, as he continues to blink and squint his eyes, he is able to make out the white of the ceiling, and then the silver and red of the emergency fire sprinklers. With his better arm, Harry slowly pushes himself upright, groaning as his head spins.  
“Harry?” four voices chorus. Harry blinks once more and the faces of his four best friends swim into his vision. Liam, smiling, but his eyes laced with concern. Niall, eyes red and puffy, letting out a watery smile. Zayn, wiping at his eyes with an embarrassed grin. And Louis, poor, sweet Louis, whose chest is shaking with silent sobs and whose gaze Harry is evading. Harry is grateful for the presence of all four of his friends, but all he can think about is LOUIS, who is staring at Harry with such intensity that it’s starting to scare him.  
“Come on, lads, let’s leave the love birds alone for a bit,” Zayn winks, and Harry’s jaw drops slightly at Zayn’s wording. Harry’s cheeks stain a pale red as Liam half smiles and Niall collapses on Harry in a hug, before the three of them walk out of the room quietly.  
It’s just Louis and Harry now. And Harry just wants to die of embarrassment. He is the first one to break the silence. “Louis…” he winces at the roughness of his voice, weak from misuse, “Louis, I’m sorry. Can we just forget what happened there in Paris because honestly I can handle just being friends I swear and I don’t -“  
But Harry’s rambling is interrupted as soft lips envelop his, swallowing his apology, and Harry’s eyes flutter shut. Sure, he’s confused, but he’s going to kiss back because it’s LOUIS and this is what he’s always dreamed about.  
“Harry,” Louis mumbles into his lips, “Shut up you fool.” And he doesn’t need to say anything more because the kiss speaks for itself - that Louis’ sorry and he loves him and he’s an idiot. And when their kiss is finished, Louis will explain his cluttered feelings, his fears and his sexuality and his relationships and ultimately his love for Harry. But for now, all either of them need is the taste of each others lips, because really, all they’ve ever truly needed is each other.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah I know it was shit sorry


End file.
